


The Way Back Home

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The progression of a relationship told through a series of vignettes. Response to dracoqueen22's song prompt of 'Collide' by Leona Lewis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Back Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dracoqueen22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/gifts).



> Alternating 1st person POV w/ some onniscent POV at the end. The first vignette was inspired by the concept of Prowl promoting Sunstreaker to combat instructor, found in Starhorse's 'Lost' fic.

                “I think we’re gonna die,” Bluestreak whimpered, doing his best to hide behind the others as they entered the training room.

                In the center of the ring, Sunstreaker stood in all his golden glory, leaning indolently on a sparing staff. He smirked a little when Sideswipe quietly spoke up from the sidelines. The red twin looked positively gleeful at what was to come, and Bluestreak wanted nothing more than to flee the room.

                The only thing that kept him from doing so was the statuesque figure of Prowl opposite Sideswipe. The second in command was present to oversee the new defense program he and Sunstreaker had created for the ‘bots generally not present on the frontlines. Bluestreak had been a little miffed upon his addition to the group of scientists and medics; he did his part, thank you very much. So what if the very act of sniping generally required one to be removed from the clash of the battle?

                A mech brushed against his shoulder, and he turned to see Wheeljack looking at him with kind and amused optics. His vocal indicators flashed a bright yellow, his board white shoulders gleaming attractively under the overhead lights.

                “It can’t be too bad!” he said cheerfully. “Prowl’s watchin’, so he’ll be sure to keep the carnage to a minimum.”

                Bluestreak merely moaned nervously in response, doorwings drooping with a pitiful shiver.

                “Awww, Blue, it’ll be all right,” Wheeljack said, slinging an arm over Bluestreak’s shoulder. “Tell ya what – I’ll watch your back if ya watch mine?”

                Bluestreak brightened a little at the prospect. While not a frontliner by any stretch of the imagination, Wheeljack was present in nearly every battle. His size coupled with his intelligence and high tolerance for damage made him a useful ally.

                “It’s a deal!”

 

-

                “No, Percy! That won’t work! I don’t know how many times I’ve told ya …”

                Wheeljack trailed off in the middle of his tirade when he caught sight of a wide-opticked mech standing in the doorway to his lab. Bluestreak’s doorwings slowly rose and fell in questioning little increments as he stared at the components heaped on the floor as well as every horizontal surface.

                Wheeljack took a literal and figurative step back from Perceptor, glad to get some distance from the scientist. The newest weapon that Optimus had requested was progressing, but slowly. Wheeljack knew the need for it was high, so he was already under pressure from the time delay. Add on Perceptor’s well-meaning, but utterly ridiculous ‘suggestions’ and even Wheeljack’s normally laid-back demeanor was fraying around the edges.

                “Can we do something for ya, Blue?” Wheeljack asked, some of the friendly returning to his tone.

                They used to not associate much, but Bluestreak and he had bonded during the exhausting defense training Prowl and Sunstreaker had put them all through a few months back. While Wheeljack would admit he had learned a great deal, Sunstreaker had been a demanding taskmaster; the engineer and Bluestreak had often limped to the rec room after each session and commiserated together over a cup of energon.

                It didn’t take long for them to go from comparing each other’s dents to getting to know one another better. Wheeljack had liked the enthusiasm Bluestreak had shown for Wheeljack’s projects, despite the little sniper not having an iota of engineering knowledge. And the chatter Bluestreak was famous for never once irritated Wheeljack as he knew it did many of his comrades.

                “Umm… Sideswipe mentioned that you and Perceptor had been in the lab for days working on the newest defense weapon. How’s it going? Well, it probably isn’t, judging by all this. But I’m sure you will get it figured out real soon. Hi, Percy!” Bluestreak said, beaming. He waved, and Wheeljack turned slightly to see Perceptor frown at the sniper and reluctantly wave back.

                “So, ya just came to visit?” Wheeljack asked, distracted with watching Perceptor fiddle with the part Wheeljack had just told him wouldn’t work.

                “Oh! No! Well, yes, but mostly to make sure you had some fuel. I brought you a cube a piece… uh… where do you want them?” Bluestreake replied, pulling two brightly glowing energon cubes from subspace and looking around uncertainly.

                “I got it!” Wheeljack said, stepping over several piles. He tripped on a hidden cable and nearly ending up falling, but caught himself on Blue’s shoulder. He grinned wryly and accepted the cubes from Bluestreak’s outstretched hands. “We really appreciate this, Blue.”

                Now that the energon was in front of him, Wheeljack realized how low on fuel he had been. His tanks gurgled excitedly, and he took a sip from one of the cubes, savoring the tingle as the energon hit his systems.

                “It was my pleasure!” Bluestreak said, his doorwings arching happily. Wheeljack smiled, absently noting that up close like this, Bluestreak’s optics were a really pretty shade of cobalt.

                Before he could reply, a small explosion sounded from behind them, and Wheeljack whirled to see Perceptor staring at a small collection of blackened and twisted metal on the workbench.

                “It appears you were correct,” he announced, averting his gaze from Wheeljack’s accusing optics.

                “It happens more often than you’d think,” Wheeljack replied tiredly. “Well, Blue. Gotta go. Thanks for the grub, though!”

                He raised a cube in salute and then began making his way back through the disaster area, processor already focused on the next stage of the weapon’s construction.            

\--

                He was trapped, stuck beneath megatons of rubble. They would never find him. He would waste away, slowly, surrounded by the broken frames of his family and neighbors.

                Several feet away, a glitter of light beckoned to him, taunting him with its promise of freedom. He began to struggle, flailing around in the few inches he had available. The squeal of warping metal soon echoed in his audials as his panicked movements further damaged already torn joints and buckled plating.

                So close… he was so close… if he could just wriggle free… He didn’t want to die down here!

                Bluestreak shot upright, mouth open and sucking in huge draughts of air. Blindly, he tore at the wires attached to him, terrified that they would come alive and bind him.  Panicked whimpers echoed in his audials, not even registering that they were his own.  

                “What’s going on in here? Bluestreak? Blue?!” a voice shouted as Bluestreak launched himself off the surface had been lying on. His legs crumpled beneath him, unresponsive. He panicked further, fingers tightening into claws and scrabbling for purchase on the slick floor.

                Suddenly hands landed on his shoulders, and he flinched violently, trying to flatten himself as much as possible. He could feel his doorwings shudder as a presence moved closer, hovering over him.

                “Blue, Blue, stop it, you’re all right. You’re safe. You’re in the Ark now. Come on, you’re all right,” was the murmured litany as arms wound themselves about Bluestreak’s chassis and pulled him back into a sitting position.

                A small part of his processor spoke up through the fright and reminded him that he had been alone beneath those collapsed buildings. No one had held him then like they did now. Another’s voice was in his audial, someone’s warm chestplates pressed between his sensory panels. He was damaged, his processor crankily told him, but he was _not alone_.

                Slowly, ever so slowly, his spark slowed its frantic spin, his ventilations smoothing out. He was not trapped. He was not buried. He was safe.

                Over and over he told himself this, until finally, he began to believe it.

                Sucking in one more shuddering ventilation, Bluestreak held it for several seconds before expelling the warm gust of air. The mech behind him kept murmuring reassuring nonsense, hands now stroking up and down Bluestreak’s chassis. The accent was achingly familiar, and Bluestreak let himself lean back into the mech’s strong embrace.

                “… ‘Jack?” Bluestreak asked. He internally winced at the quavering tone.

                “Yeah, Blue, it’s me. Ya know where ya are now?”

                Bluestreak raised his optics to survey the orange walls medical equipment. “The Ark. Medical. What happened?”

                “I ’m not surprised ya don’t remember. Ratchet said the back of your cranial unit had a dent the size of his fist in it. One of the jets got in a lucky missile just behind your position. Bunch of rocks exploded right behind ya – tore some of your spinal relays and banged you up pretty bad. You’ve been out for almost three days,” Wheeljack explained. He continued to gently stroke Bluestreak’s plating, and he relaxed even more beneath the soothing touch.

                “Oh no,” Bluestreak lamented, stiffening once more upon seeing the torn edges of some of the monitoring wires still attached to his frame. “Ratchet’s gonna kill me!”

                Wheeljack chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through Bluestreak’s backplates and making him shiver. “I doubt that. He was pretty worried about ya. But we should probably get ya hooked back up. He’s off duty, but I wouldn’t put it past him to be monitoring ya remotely.”

                The engineer moved to Bluestreak’s side, lifting his arm and placing it over Wheeljack’s shoulder. With a heave, Wheeljack managed to lift Bluestreak up and deposit him on the edge of the medical berth. Bluestreak sat and watched as Wheeljack lifted his legs one by one and then fingered the torn wiring, his optic ridges furrowing in thought.

                “Hey,” Bluestreak said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on Wheeljack’s wrist. “Thanks.”

                Wheeljack’s optics rose to meet his, his vocal indicators strobing a slow spring green. “No problem.”

                “No, I mean it,” Bluestreak insisted, tightening his grip. “I panicked. It was like I was back there again, trapped…”

                “It’s ok, Blue,” Wheeljack assured him, taking a step forward and patting Bluestreak’s hand. “The processor can play some tricks on ya even without having a rock shoved halfway through it. I ain’t gonna think any less of ya, just because this dredged up some bad files.”

                Overwhelmed with relief, Bluestreak fell forward, awkwardly enfolding the surprised engineer into a hug. Wheeljack shuffled closer, embracing him in return.

                “Thanks, ‘Jack,” Bluestreak said, the words muffled against Wheeljack’s chest plating. The engineer murmured something back, but Bluestreak could barely hear it. He felt safe, tucked within Wheeljack’s arms; safe and cared for, and he never wanted to leave.

 

\--

              “…’jack? _Wheeljack_ … are you ok?”

                Startling at the voice suddenly intruding into his haze, Wheeljack jerked backwards, colliding with the wall. He looked around, surprised to see himself standing near the end of a hallway that led to one of the more remote storage bays in the Ark.

                “Wheeljack?”

                Concerned blue optics appeared within Wheeljack’s line of sight. Wheeljack blinked, his own optics spiraling in and out to focus on Bluestreak’s features.

                “Yeah?” he responded automatically.

                “Are you all right?” Bluestreak asked, grasping Wheeljack’s forearm as he swayed in place. “I thought you’d be with Ratchet. Is he ok?”

                Wheeljack flinched backwards so violently that he jerked out of Bluestreak’s hold.

                “Ratch will be fine. No thanks to me,” he replied thickly, bitterness and shame rising up to tear at his spark.

                “What… what do you mean? I thought it was an accident?” Bluestreak inquired, taking another step forward. Wheeljack wanted to shove him away, undeserving of the other mech’s sympathetic optics. But he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting yet another of those he cared for.

                “Accident or not, I blew up a wall onto my best friend,” Wheeljack replied, shaking his head.

                He wished it could disperse the images of seeing Ratchet lying on the floor, frame as twisted as the pieces of Ark wall on top of him. It had taken First Aid nearly half a day to repair the damages, as the incident had left Ratchet with several fractured struts and multiple torn fuel lines.

                “You didn’t mean to. And you said Ratchet will be ok, right?”

                “Yeah, but… I shoulda paid closer attention,” Wheeljack said, rubbing fitfully at his face mask. “Prowl was asking me questions over the comms, and I wasn’t watching what my hands were doing, and Ratchet walked in and startled me and…”

                “Hey, hey, hey,” Bluestreak said, stepping forward and gripping Wheeljack by the elbows. He looked up into Wheeljack’s face, expression earnest and open.

                “It was an _accident_. And you’ll be sure to watch what you’re doing in the future, right?”

                Wheeljack scoffed, despair making his tanks roil unpleasantly. “As if they’ll ever let me back in the lab again. They’ll probably deactivate me.”

                “You’re a good mech, Wheeljack,” Bluestreak said forcefully, making Wheeljack’s spark leap despite himself. “You didn’t do it on purpose, and no one is going to deactivate you. I wouldn’t let them. I promise.”

                The words were spoken with such force and conviction that Wheeljack couldn’t help the small smile that Bluestreak couldn’t see.

                Wheeljack bent slightly at the waist, bumping his forehelm against Bluestreak’s and closing his optics. Bluestreak wasn’t the strongest fighter or the biggest mech, but Wheeljack had every confidence that the little sniper would hold to his word or die trying.

                “Ratchet’s gonna be _mad_ ,” Wheeljack murmured, his ventilations slowing down and syncing with Bluestreak’s.                

                “Yeah, probably,” Bluestreak admitted, small puffs of air bathing Wheeljack’s faceplates with every word. “But I bet I can convince the twins to prank him and take his processor off you.”

                Wheeljack snorted and leaned back to see Bluestreak grinning cheekily. He was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for the sniper’s presence and devotion. Wheeljack didn’t deserve one bit of it, but he welcomed it nevertheless. Outside of Ratchet, Wheeljack had never been as comfortable with and as close to another mech or femme as he was with Bluestreak.  

                It was nice. Especially since there wasn’t likely to be flying wrenches involved.

\--

                “…and then ‘Jack said he was going to work on some improvements with my rifle, which is so nice, don’t you think?” Bluestreak said, letting the words flow out of his processor as he and Sunstreaker walked up the Ark’s main ramp.

                When only silence answered him (even if Sunstreaker never really engaged in conversation, he would at least grunt in appropriate spots), Bluestreak paused and looked around, finally finding his patrol partner a few feet down the ramp. Sunstreaker was staring at Bluestreak, optics narrowed, but there was no hint of malice in his features or stance. Instead, he merely looked puzzled.

                “Sunstreaker?” Bluestreak questioned, equally confused.

                “You spend a lot of time with Wheeljack,” Sunstreaker commented.

                Bluestreak turned so that he was facing the golden twin. “Well, yeah. He’s my friend. You and Sides are my friends, and I spend lots of time with you guys too. I mean… am I not? Spending enough time with you two?” he asked, suddenly worried that he had been neglecting his older friends for his newer one.

                Sunstreaker shook his head. “I don’t care if you’re spend less time with us. Sideswipe might, but frag him. And speaking of fragging… are you and Wheeljack warming each other’s berths?”

                Bluestreak reeled back a step. “What? No?! Why… wha… what… how could…?” Bluestreak sputtered, so shocked that he was unable to even form full sentences.

                “I’m just asking. Jeez, Blue, don’t blow a gasket,” Sunstreaker replied, faceplates smoothing out into a blank expression. “You coming?”

                Bluestreak stared off into space as the frontliner nonchalantly strolled past him, thoughts whirling through his processor.

                He _had_ been spending a lot of time with the engineer lately. Did the rest of the crew also think they were interfacing?

                Then he jolted as a stray thought wound itself through his mind. _Would it be so bad if they were?_

-

                “So, ‘Jack…” Sideswipe drawled, suddenly appearing out of thin air and leaning against the edge of the washrack stall Wheeljack was utilizing.

                After slowing his spark down from its surprised whirl, Wheeljack threw an amused glance over his shoulder, letting the water spray down his front. If Sideswipe was approaching him like this, it likely meant that he was about to ask a favor. Or supplies for his latest prank.  

                “Yeah? What can I do for ya, Sideswipe?” he asked, interested as to what it would be this time.

                “Nothing much. Just wanted to satisfy my curiosity on something.”

                “What’s that?” Wheeljack said, closing his optics and leaning into the spray. He loved the flow of the warm water down his neck cables.

                “Are you fragging Bluestreak?”

                Well. _That_ was unexpected.

                Wheeljack slipped on the slick floor as he tried to turn and demand Sideswipe repeat himself; surely Wheeljack had misheard him. Teetering on one foot, he would have crashed to the ground if Sideswipe hadn’t darted forward and steadied him.

                “Careful, mech. It’s a bit slippery there,” he said, his trademark lop-sided grin in place. The red twin’s optics glinted with amusement, and Wheeljack would bet his whole lab that Sideswipe had timed that question just so.

                “Thanks,” Wheeljack muttered with averted optics as Sideswipe leaned back, propping his hands on his hips.  

                “No problem. So? Fragging that cute-afted little sniper or what?” he asked with a leer.

                Something snapped in Wheeljack’s head and when he came back to himself, he had Sideswipe pinned up against the side of the stall.

                “Don’t you talk about him like that!” Wheeljack snarled, optical feed going red around the edges.

                Sideswipe stared at him with surprised faceplates, hands very carefully held up and away from his body. The frontliner could get away from Wheeljack any time he wanted, but he remained still, considering Wheeljack.

                A smile slowly stretched the corners of Sideswipe’s mouth. “Heh. So you’re _not_. You plan on it anytime soon?”

                Wheeljack abruptly released Sideswipe, hands shaking at the fury that had taken hold of him for that brief moment. Where had that even come from?

                “We’re not… we’re just friends,” Wheeljack replied shakily.

                “Yeah,” Sideswipe said slowly. “You are now. He’d be good for you, though. Frag, you do _him_ wonders. So just think about it… okay?”

                Sideswipe clasped Wheeljack on the shoulder, suddenly all seriousness.

                “What do you care?” Wheeljack blurted out.

                Smiling gently, Sideswipe began backing up. “Because Blue’s a good friend. And we have no complaint with you. Just don’t blow him up, yeah?”

                With a wink, Sideswipe turned on his heel and left the washracks, the echo of his cheery whistle lingering for several moments. All Wheeljack could do was stare, mesmerized, at the drain as water whirled down it.

\--

                Sideswipe strode out of the washrack and took a left. Two steps from the door, Sunstreaker pushed off from the wall and joined his twin, stepping in unison as they traveled the hall.

                “Well?” Sunstreaker demanded.

                Sideswipe grinned sidelong at his brother. He raised his hands and rubbed them together with a faked evil laugh. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

                Sunstreaker grunted, his optics narrowing as he looked up at an approaching figure at the other end of the hall. “Better be. Getting sick and tired of them being oblivious.”

                “Awww, I think it’s cute. But you’re right; it’s been long enough. Hey, Blue!” Sideswipe called, raising a welcoming hand. “Have a nice wash!”

                The sniper barely acknowledged them as he passed by, his optic ridges furrowed in thought and his doorwings twitching.

                Sideswipe grinned and elbowed his brother, giving him a significant look.

                “Quit it, glitch,” Sunstreaker snarled, rubbing at the spot. “Stop gloating. Nothing’s happened yet.”

                “But it will~” Sideswipe sang, walking with a happy skip in his step.

                “The only thing that’s gonna happen for sure is that you’re giving me that wash and wax you promised,” Sunstreaker growled.

                 Sideswipe rolled his optics. “Yeah, yeah. Lead the way, my dreamy little Daffodil.”

-

                 The door to the washrack slammed shut, and the two mechs within stood frozen, surprised optics locked on one another.

                 “Blue! You’re… uh, here,” Wheeljack said hesitantly.

                 “I can go,” Bluestreak offered, already taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m sorry, the other racks are down for repairs and I didn’t…”

                 “No!” Wheeljack shouted, his hand outstretched. “You don’t havta go.”

                 The engineer’s vocal indicators flashed a soft pink. “I don’t _want_ you to go.”

                 Bluestreak’s doorwings hesitantly rose as a pleased expression spread across his faceplates. “Really?”

                 Wheeljack straightened to his full height, taking in a bracing ventilation before releasing it. His blast mask slid aside in a rare display of vulnerability, and he nodded.

                 “Really. In fact, I never want ya to go. I think… I think we’re great friends, but maybe… we could be more? Maybe we could…”

                 He paused as Bluestreak made a wordless exclamation before speaking. “You… I was… yes!” Bluestreak blurted out, optics flaring brightly.

                 They gazed at one another for several minutes, seemingly content to merely smile goofily at one another.

                 Then Bluestreak shook himself and hesitantly gestured from himself to Wheeljack and back again. “Do you want to…?”

                 “Yeah!” Wheeljack exclaimed, nodding eagerly.

                 In unison, they rushed towards one another, arms outstretched. But instead of wrapping one another up in an embrace and passionately kissing, Wheeljack slipped on the slick floor, slid forward with wind milling arms and took Bluestreak out at the knees.

                For several moments, there was no motion from the tangle of limbs on the floor. Then Wheeljack stirred, turning his head from where his cheek lay smushed against Bluestreak’s chest.

                “Uh. I slipped?” he offered.

                “Ow,” Bluestreak groaned, shifting beneath Wheeljack’s sprawled out frame. “I think that hurt more than one of Sunny’s punches.”

                “Well, I’m flattered,” Wheeljack chuckled, pushing himself upright. It took two attempts as they were now both thoroughly covered in water and cleanser. “Ya know, speaking of the twins, I’m gonna have to thank Sideswipe later. He said something right before ya came in that really made me think about us.”

                Bluestreak froze, nearly sitting up with his weight braced on his palms behind him. “Sideswipe? As we were coming off patrol, Sunstreaker asked if we were interfacing.”

                The two shared a look.

                “Ya think…?”

                Bluestreak nodded. “Knowing them, yes. But I can’t hold it against them.”

                The sniper sat up fully, reaching out to cradle Wheeljack’s cheek with one cleanser streaked hand.

                “I’m pretty happy with the overall results,” he said, smiling shyly.

                Wheeljack nodded, leaning into the touch. His optic shutters fluttered before drooping in bliss. “You got that right. Now, c’mere. I wanna try this again.”

-

                The next day, Sideswipe opened their room’s door to leave for his shift and nearly faceplanted into the opposite wall as he tripped over something on the floor.

                Once he recovered, he stood over the thing, staring down at it while rubbing the new dent in his shoulder.

                “What the Pit?” Sunstreaker growled from inside, awoken from recharge by Sideswipe’s shout.

                Sideswipe looked up, peering around the doorframe at his brother.

                “Uhhh… why is there a basket of fruit in front of our door?”

 

~End


End file.
